


Twin Black Holes

by ChameleonSerket



Series: Your Blood is My Drug [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not RPF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonSerket/pseuds/ChameleonSerket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Strife is a frightened idiot and Parvis is forced to be the mature one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twin Black Holes

**Author's Note:**

> The university train made a stop and Procrastination Station and I ended up with... whatever this rambling mess is.
> 
> I wrote the first bit in this series before I read all the cool bioluminescence fics and saw all of the incredible art but I was determined, and strong, and I worked it in somehow! So subtle! So seamless! So elegant! Just like bashing away with a hammer. A glowy alien hammer.
> 
> This is, once again, a middle of the night work (when is anything I do ever not done in the dead of night though) and I'm not sure how it'll look in the cold harsh light of morning. That being said, enjoy! 
> 
> (And no judging, you.)

Strife stopped going back. He busied himself in his mechanisms and his science, refusing to think about the beautiful chaos he had left behind. He assembled an armoury of guns and didn’t think about Parvis playing with his blood bazooka. He built himself a new set of exoskeleton- like armour that shrouded him in protection and didn’t stop to consider how thankful he was that it wouldn’t turn on him and his life essence if he ran out of power. When he injected himself with enough foreign DNA that he started glowing green he definitely didn’t think of his temporary link into the blood network and with alien villager blood running red though his veins. He could fly without help now, and that was good. He didn’t miss his jetpack, or his hand glider. They could be packed away into boxes, like his past, like anything that made him scared.

He never said it, but Strife knew he was scared. Everything was too raw, too fresh, too chaotic back there and Strife dealt with that the same way he dealt with everything frightening: he ran. He ran away, and he was so relieved he couldn’t even feel shame for breaking all those promises he made so long ago, it seemed.

Days turned to weeks and Strife turned to mastering chemistry instead of remembering how he said he was too far gone to regret anything and the dance of quicksilver fast fingers on his skin. He told himself it was better this way- he was far too busy discovering new, more illicit ways to build his business empire to mess around in a medieval castle with a potty mouthed wizard building useless quarries and getting whined at for no reason.

When Strife built the Crafted Cantina, it was a bad day. Obviously, he just wanted a place to relax and unwind after a hard day working. It wasn’t as if he went off his business park anymore, anyway. And yet, he was haunted. He designed the back garden with a romantic dinner date in mind and his mind skittered away from a pair of dark eyes so deep and black they could swallow him up if he let them. He spent hours making the flooring perfect and ended up having to pace around and around his tower to stop thoughts of stair building and landscaping and sunflower- growing in a castle far away. He bought a plethora of spirits from his witchy neighbours and refused their worried looks, instead choosing to drink alone at his bar when all he wanted was a certain dark haired jokester beside him.

And then one day Strife walked into the Crafted Cantina and there he was.

Dressed the part and behind the bar, all long limbs and easy smile and flashing eyes, all “Good day Sir” and “What’s your poison Sir” all perfect and terrifying and above all else, unavoidable. Strife paused in the doorway, his eyes flicking left and right, searching for an exit, searching for a sign that this moment was a dream and he had really fallen asleep on one of his machines. He didn’t meet that steady gaze but was overwhelmingly drawn into the restaurant on shaking limbs by a beckoning finger. He took the seat proffered to him and sat, huddled, staring downwards at the smooth wood surface of the bar.

“Now then my good sir, what can I get you on this fine evening?”

Strife flinched. His voice hurt, something that Strife never thought he’d ever think about someone else. It hurt with guilt and shame and a thousand regrets like tiny needles beneath Strife’s skin.

“Sir? I can’t possibly serve you if you won’t even look at me” and suddenly fingertips were burning like fire under his skin and ever so gently forcing his head up until his own glowing green eyes could do nothing but stare full into two black holes that belonged to-

“Parvis.” Strife surprised himself, his own voice jolting him out of the trance. “Parvis. Oh my good lord Parvis, I’m so sorry.”

Parvis sighed, his eyes flickering shut, his hands dropping down to the counter where they clenched into tight fists. He shook his head and drew in a shuddering breath, his whole body shaking from the effort. When he opened his eyes again, Strife was shocked to see that they were bright with tears.

“Did I mean nothing to you after all?”

“Parvis no I, I never-”

“No? No? How can you say no Strife? You didn’t come back! You left me, you left me alone and you promised me, you promised I wasn’t making a mistake but you never came back. Why didn’t you come back?”

Strife couldn’t help but grip Parvis’ shaking wrists in a futile attempt to calm him down. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” he muttered, over and over, teeth chattering from the effort, skin glowing from the exertion.

Parvis rotated his hands slowly, gripping onto Strife’s wrists as well. He pulled himself in close, bending low and looking up, forcing Strife to meet his eyes, his signature grin long since fled from his face, a worried frown in its place. Strife hated that frown.

“Why, Strife? Please, please, just tell me why. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to not have you anymore.”

Strife just closed his eyes and trusted in Parvis to not pull away. Their foreheads met softly, their noses pressed together. “I was scared, Parvis” he whispered “I was scared of you. I was scared of this. I’m not good at... being attached. I couldn’t I- I” he stammered, and faltered as Parvis squeezed his wrists just the slightest bit tighter. “I’m sorry.”

They stayed just so for several minutes, bent awkwardly over the bar, Strife balancing on his stool and Parvis leaning heavily on his elbows, foreheads touched, sharing heat, sharing breath, offering and accepting forgiveness.

Then Parvis heaved a breath and hauled himself upwards. “So, you want a drink or what, _Sir_?” he drawled, body sparking with energy, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’ve been in here basically all day, I know where you keep your good stuff by now.”

Strife blinked, the sudden change in tack catching him off guard. “Uh, yeah actually. I’ll have some sake.”

Parvis chuckled. “You massive nerd” he said, but didn’t argue, just spun himself away and into the basement, leaving Strife staring at his hands until a small cup was pressed into them. Parvis sprawled loosely on the chair next to him, plonking down his cup with a clink and waving the tokkuri enticingly. Strife held up his cup automatically and let Parvis pour him a drink, insisting on pouring Parvis’ drink for him too. “It’s only polite” Strife muttered, flushing slightly. Parvis just grinned and sipped, letting the hot of alcohol roll over him in a warm wave.

Silence, apart from their slow sips. Strife avoided Parvis’ eyes but their knees met in a shy brush that didn’t falter in contact. Outside, the sun set slowly and the lamps of the Crafted Cantina flickered on automatically, triggered by the lack of light. They filled up each other’s cups once more and Parvis, much to Strife’s chagrin, downed his in one shot before letting his grin loose on his face once more to outshine the lanterns.

“So Strife. I was wondering about the, ah, glowing that you seem to be doing lately.”

Strife twitches, glowing ever so slightly greener from his eyes and his freckles. “I uh. Well. You know, of course, that I’m not of this planet. I’m from the same place Xephos is.” He sipped his drink nervously.

“Yeah, but he’s always been glowy. Like a little blue nightlight. But you’ve never been.”

“I thought that I would need to blend in more when I arrived here so I uh, borrowed some human DNA and rewrote my system. The splicing I’ve been doing recently has been chipping away at it so, I can fly, and stand in lava, but also, I’m well. A bit green.” He rolled up one of his sleeves, and inspected his arm. “I’m not sure I’m enjoying it after spending so long without the glow.”

“I think you look wonderful” Parvis exclaimed boldly. “May I?” He held out his hands and Strife laid his arm in them. Parvis took his time, studying every green freckle, tracing the line of bioluminescence that wound its way towards Strife’s hand, drawing Strife up and out of his chair to scrutinise the underside of his arm, slipping his fingers under Strife’s sleeve to feel how far up the freckles reached.

“Is everyone on your planet like this?”

“I have more speckles than most but yeah, basically. There are different colours too, all along your green- blue spectrum.”

“Must be a beautiful place to live” Parvis mused with a smile, and was rewarded with green flashes of what he suspected were alien blushes.

“I don’t know. Living here has its benefits too” murmured Strife and bit his lip at his own audacity. What was it about Parvis that forced him outside of his bubble of comfort?

Parvis smirked softly, then met Strife’s eyes with a jolt. “I want you to promise me something.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Just, stay here. Right here, just for a moment. I won’t be long.”

“Um, okay.”

“No, Strife, you have to promise. Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Parvis squeezed Strifes’ hand once more and darted away to the corner of the Cantina, leaving Strife standing awkwardly, feeling an intruder in his own bar. He knew where Parvis was headed. Of course he was going for the jukebox. What a cliché. Strife rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a smile spreading onto his face as Parvis selected a song. An instrumental and kind of slow, too slow for Parvis’ tastes really, but exactly the kind of music that Strife loved, all violins and drums and a proud, elegant beat. Parvis basically bounced back to Strife in his excitement and held out his hands, practically vibrating from nervous adrenaline.

“Dance with me?”

“Okay” and Strife was pulled into Parvis, not too close, but close enough that his hands naturally found their way to Parvis’ hips and his feet fell into the one two step that rocked them both back and forward. With every sway Parvis inched closer and closer until he was resting his cheek against Strifes’ temple and Strife’s nose was- damn this tall man- pressed into the crook of Parvis’ shoulder and neck. Long arms wrapped around Strife and thumbs rubbed small circles on his back, washing away the fear, washing away the guilt just like they’d washed away rust- red blood what seemed like an age ago. Parvis sighed into his hair.

“Stay with me?”

Strife could have cried with relief.

“Okay.”


End file.
